#MEXICAN BATHROOM SINKS

[rusticahouse]

Our Talavera sinks are primarily used in rustic and Southern-inspired bathrooms. The sinks handmade in Mexico are round, oval and rectangular. They can be both drop-in / undermount as well as a vessel. The vessel sinks can be installed over an iron stand to add an even more retro look. You can also consider installing our Talavera sinks in the kitchen where it will go perfectly with colorful and bright mosaic tiles. The types chosen mostly for kitchens are rectangular Talavera sinks. However, generally speaking, the most popular Talavera sinks for rustic style decor are oval and they are handcrafted in three sizes. Those are small, medium and large wash basins. With our Talavera pieces of art, your sink will be functional and useful piece of a bathroom. The decorative accents that can add elegance, charm, and character to interior redesign and bathroom remodeling so check out our Talavera sinks and decide about your choice.

[mycustomcopper]

On the other hand, the kitchen is often considered the heart of the home, and in a Hacienda style house, the kitchen's centerpiece can be a stunning copper range hood. These range hoods not only serve a practical purpose by improving ventilation but also add a dramatic statement to the space. The rustic appeal of copper, with its ability to develop a beautiful patina over time, complements the warm, inviting atmosphere typical of Hacienda kitchens. Paired with wooden cabinets and terracotta tiles, a copper range hood can transform your kitchen into a culinary haven that exudes old-world charm. Going towards the bedroom and dining room, rustic copper mirrors are a fantastic way to introduce the Hacienda aesthetic into your living spaces. These mirrors, often framed with intricately designed copper, can add a touch of rustic elegance to any room. Whether placed in the entryway, living room, or bedroom, the warm glow of the copper frame enhances the overall ambiance. The reflective surface also helps to brighten the space, making it feel more open and inviting. A well-placed rustic copper mirror can serve as both a functional and decorative element, tying together the room’s design with a cohesive Hacienda flair. The dining room is where family and friends gather to share meals and create memories, and a dining room copper table can make these moments even more special. The robust, earthy quality of copper makes it an ideal material for dining tables, providing both durability and aesthetic appeal. Whether you opt for a sleek, modern design or a more traditional, handcrafted table, the copper surface adds a unique touch of elegance. Paired with rustic wooden chairs and wrought iron accents, a copper dining table can become the centerpiece of your dining room, inviting guests to sit, eat, and enjoy the warmth of a Hacienda home.

[made-to-order]

For a truly immersive Mexican-inspired bathroom, consider using ceramic Talavera tiles for your walls and counters. These vibrant, hand-painted tiles are a hallmark of Mexican design, featuring bold colors and intricate patterns that can transform any space. The versatility of Talavera tiles allows you to get creative, whether you want a full wall of tiles or a more subtle border. Incorporating Mexican border tiles around your vanity or as an accent on your countertops adds a distinctive flair, framing the space and pulling together the various design elements. The combination of ceramic Talavera tiles with copper sinks, iron mirrors, and copper appliances creates a cohesive look that is both elegant and culturally rich, making your bathroom a true reflection of artisanal beauty and craftsmanship. By blending these key elements—copper oval sinks, Mexican copper appliances, handmade iron mirrors, and Talavera tiles—you can create a bathroom vanity that is not only functional but also a stunning showcase of Mexican-inspired design. This approach to bathroom decor offers a unique, luxurious, and timeless style that will make your space feel like a beautifully curated sanctuary.

[mexican-tile-store]

Imagine the conversation piece your kitchen or bathroom could become with a Talavera sink as its centerpiece. Guests won’t be able to resist admiring the vibrant colors and intricate designs, and you’ll feel a swell of pride knowing you’ve brought a piece of Mexican heritage into your home. So, why blend in when you were born to stand out? Upgrade your spaces with hand-painted Talavera sinks and let your personality shine through. Whether you’re a fan of bold colors, and intricate designs, or simply appreciate the artistry of Mexican culture, there’s a sink out there with your name on it. In conclusion, life’s too short for dull decor. Spice things up, add a splash of color and let your sink steal the show. When it comes to affordable Talavera washbasin, the only thing bigger than the savings is the impact they’ll have on your home. ¡Viva la fiesta!

[aklxojjk]

Chica Tímida

[ Gekko x Fem!Reader ] Gekko looks through your phone and finds the Spanish lessons Reyna was giving you.

note - This has the smallest amount of lore, reader understands Spanish but doesn't know how to speak very well, i got most of my Spanish from my Mexican friend so if its wrong please let me know. ALSO ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE SORRY FOR THE GRAMMAR.

w/c - 2k

warnings - Smut, praise, dirty talk, dirty talk in Spanish, very passionate, riding, fingering.

purple text is Reyna and green is Gekko in case y'all get confused.

MDNI

You sit up in your small but comfortable bed rubbing your eyes, looking at your clock it shines a bright 7:00 AM at you. Groaning slightly you get up and make your way to the bathroom, turning the lights on you start brushing your teeth immediately. After getting done with your daily skincare routine you change into more acceptable clothing, since you sleep with just panties and a shirt on every day.

Making your way to the kitchen you see a bare-faced Reyna drinking some black coffee. 

"Good morning chica." She says in between sips.

"Morning... I just had the worst sleep ever, felt like I just took a nap, you?" Yawning you make your way to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee and some scrambled eggs with bacon.

"it was alright, our work has been pretty complicated lately" She looks at you with a sly smile. 

"Why are you looking at me like that Reyna... What did I do this time?" you give her a smile taking the seat in front of her, taking a sip of your coffee.

"How have you and Gekko been?" Her tone is playful.

"We've been good unless he told you otherwise…?" your statement comes out more like a question.

"No, he told me you guys were closer than ever... but he wishes you were closer if you know what I mean." she sips her coffee nonchalantly.

"I see, I mean the only reason I've been hesitating is because I wish I could talk to him more you know... sensually but in Spanish." looking away from her, you feel your cheeks grow warm. 

Your relationship with Reyna has always been really good even before Gekko joined the team, but recently you noticed that she has been talking to him more, and that made you feel as if you couldn't share information with her about your relationship with Gekko. Maybe it was the fear that she would disapprove of you guys relationship or perhaps you were just too timid to share all the details.

"How about I teach you some phrases?" 

"Please do" Pulling up the notepad app on your phone you give her a nod as if to say 'I'm ready'

"Just give me your phone I'll write them down for you"

You immediately give her the phone and finish your breakfast, grabbing her empty plate and putting it in the sink. When you come back she puts your phone in front of you, smirking.

"'Okay let's see if the pro has game" You smile at her and pick up the phone.

qué guapo estás

me encatas

estoy loca por ti

Estoy pensando en ti todo el tiempo

estás bueno

cógeme

https://www.spanish_pillow_talk.com

You can understand most of these except for the word before the link, they were normal compliments one would give their partner.

"What does cógeme mea-" Your sentence is cut short when wingman jumps in your lap, meaning Gekko is not too far behind. 

"Hola amiguito" 

"Hi wingman" you say before squeezing the poor little guy.

"Hola mi Reyna, hola mi cariño" his arms wrap around you from behind and you feel his head on top of yours, before you could look up he gives you a quick kiss on the forehead and heads to the kitchen to grab his breakfast.

"Te ves guapo hoy." you immediately shift your gaze to Reyna looking for some sort of approval, and she nods slowly. 

"Only today? I thought I looked good every day." His laugh can be heard from far away, that laugh that you so loved. 

"You know what I mean" Rolling your eyes you click on the link that Reyna had left on your notes, the website took a while to load so you just went to get water. 

"Gekko you've got training later today with Harbor, I totally wish I could stay pero yo tengo una meeting con brimstone" Reyna stands up making her way out the door.

"So I was thinking we could hang out before you have to train" You come back to the table water in hand, and as you sit down you notice your phone is missing. 'Where is my phone?' you thought lifting the table cloth and checking all of Gekko's pets to see if they had it, but your phone was still missing.

"So what exactly do you mean by "hang" before I train" he has a slight smile on his face, he's holding your phone reading something off it.

"just hang out in your room- Oh." you quickly snatched your phone off his hand, checking what he was reading. Your phone read: 'Pillow talk in Spanish' 

“just hang?”

"I was asking Reyna how to uhm compliment you in Spanish and she… she recommended that website!" your nervousness gave it away, he knew you were lying.

“so Reyna recommended you to talk dirty to me? no necesitas mentirme, estoy tan duro pensando en ti” He’s no longer interested in his food but rather you.

You look down at your notes analyzing everything you could say to him right now. “okay maybe we won’t just hang, but please speak slowly so I can understand you.” Eyebrows dropping as if begging him for mercy. 

“Of course,” He took his time throwing all the trash out and leaving the dishes in the sink, but once he was done he lifted you making your legs wrap around his waist. “I’ll do whatever you ask me to”

As he walked to the room he kept giving quick pecks on your lips and cheeks, making you blush as you looked him deeply in those brown eyes of his. Gekko is okay with PDA but knowing you don’t like it, he chose to not embarrass you in case someone comes out of their room.

Stopping the kisses to get the door open, he sits down on the edge of the bed with you still in his lap. He pushes his lips against yours again when all of a sudden he bites your lip softly and you open your mouth just enough to let his tongue in, the heat is intensifying and your moans start getting more audible. Your hips can’t help but grind against his clothed dick, which he responds with helping hands deepening the friction. You both break the kiss to catch your breath but when you are about to go back in he makes you stand, then spins you around so your back is facing him and he sits you down again on his lap. 

“Relax cariño,” You feel his warm breath as he gets closer to your neck, then your shoulders, then up to your face… teasing you slowly as he leaves a trail of kisses. His hands caress your hips just above your panties, his digits twirl around the cloth, he subsequently slides it off your thigh then drops it on the floor. “Estas tan mojada” he whispers in your ear as his hands roam all around your thigh but not where you need him most. One of his hands leaves your thigh and you feel his digits go up and down your slit, spreading it, collecting some of your wetness.

your hand covers your mouth making it very hard for him to hear you, you didn’t mind that since this whole situation made you so timid.

 “Why are you so quiet.. am I not doing this right?” You feel Gekko’s frown as he kisses your neck before he pushes his fingers inside you, gently pumping you, curving them ever so slightly trying to find your sweet spot.

“Cógeme porfa..” You didn't mean for it to come as a whimper but you’re glad it did because he started fingering you deeper and faster, every pump hitting your sweet spot and making you huff and whimper out his name. 

“I will as soon as you cum” his voice low as he concentrated on making you feel good, his free hand stops roaming your hips now cupping one of your breasts fidgeting with your nipple. He knows you’re close and that's turning him on. “Tan hermosa” his whispers in your ear tickle, you turn your head to look at him with eyebrows furrowed and lips parted. 

“I’m about to- “ his glistening wet fingers slide out of you leaving you with a feeling of emptiness, but that's instantly replaced with pleasure when he starts rubbing circles on your clit. You can’t manage to get any words out as your orgasm takes over you, leaving your legs trembling and your eyes closed shut. 

His fingers start rapidly rubbing your sensitive spot as you're coming down from your high, the movement makes you throw your head back against his shoulder. Once you’ve stopped trembling you hide your face on his neck, kissing it and marking your territory.

He once again makes you stand up only this time though he stands up with you sliding his pants down, he sits back down on the bed with his arms behind him to support him. 

You try to be sexy by leaning down and rubbing him through his boxers but he pulls you in by the waist forcing you to fall on top of him, you lift yourself off of him and pull his boxers down. One of his hands is firmly gripping your waist and the other is still behind him. 

“Me encanta cuando me miras así” This is probably the most you have used your brain to speak Spanish but it pays off seeing the look he gave you. 

“yeah?” the hand on your waist forces you down on him earning a moan from you as he took you by surprise, you both let out a groan as more of him slides inside. Both his hands grab a hold of your ass and start moving you, making you grind on him. You speed up as he adjusts himself inside you, thinking the grinding isn't enough you start to bounce on him. He lays back down pulling you with him, kissing you passionately as his back hits the mattress. 

“qué rico mami, me encantas” He whispers sweetly in your ear while his hands rub your back, his lips giving you a small kiss on the cheek, then your lips, then down your neck. “I love you”

“I love you too” You’re drunk off his love, eyes closed, smiling at anything he says, craving his touch as you push your body against his. All of that comes to an end when you open your eyes and go back to riding on him, he pulls you down just enough to be able to grab your boobs. You look at him sweetly and he does the same to you, he adores you.

His eyebrows furrowed as you picked up a pace and his hands left your torso and are now on your hips again, making you grind faster. One of his hands leaves your side and holds your face making you look at him as he’s about to cum. He wants to see your face when you finish with him inside, he wants to see you throw your head back, your mouth part open, and he wants to hear you moan his name.

His eyes are closed but he tries to keep them half open as he's about to cum, your mouth agape slightly as you feel your second orgasm arrive. You push your lips against his own as you both moan in each other mouth, his hands never leaving you.

Gasping for air you part ways, getting off him and lying next to each other you both stare at each other. Nothing but love in both your eyes, smiling wide you giggle a bit.

"¿qué~?" he hugs you as you both laugh

“you should speak Spanish more often, you sound so sexy” You say with your face in his neck

“you should too, i loved it.”

[masonmontz]

heey, hope you like it :)

fluff word count: 1,2k

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

You sighed when you stopped the car and saw Mason standing there waiting for you, and as soon as he saw you he walked slowly towards the car looking at the ground.

Rasmus walked in front of the car and greeted you, and you gave him a smile, but you knew neither of them were happy about the draw in today's game.

“Hey babe” you said as Mason sat in the passenger seat, and he just threw his backpack in the back seat and rested his head on the seat. 

“Hey” he spoke softly and sighed, and you unbuckled your seatbelt and leaned in to leave a kiss on his cheek. Mason turned his face and you kissed his lip, trying to hug him, but a car honked behind you and you had to let go of him. “What a day.” 

You smiled and started to leave the airport parking lot while Mason didn't say anything, and he was quiet the whole way home. It wasn't a bad game, but Manchester United didn't score any goals even with possession, and they missed a lot of chances to score, but you know that's not what's bothering Mason.

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” you asked as soon as you entered the house, without talking much during the journey. You talked about everything except football, and sometimes Mason answered or he just listened to you. “I can make pasta or we can order something.”

“Actually, honey, I'm not hungry, but you can order something for dinner and I'll pay” he said and took off his uniform jacket, and you just shrugged because it's hard to comfort Mason at times like this. “I'm going to take a shower.”

You sighed and went to the kitchen to get a bottle of water and then went back to the living room to look for a restaurant to order something for you, and even though Mason said he wasn't hungry, you knew he would eat your food if you didn't order anything for him. 

Fifteen minutes passed and Mason still hadn't come downstairs, which was odd, so you put your phone away after ordering Mexican food for the two of you and went upstairs to talk to him.

You could hear the shower running from the bathroom in your room, so you walked over there only to see Mason with his eyes closed and his hand resting against the wall. He had left the door open, but you still knocked before entering. Mason opened his eyes and saw you, and even though he was sad he smiled at you, making your heart skip a beat. 

Mason turned off the shower and you grabbed a towel for him from the counter, and as soon as he opened the shower you handed him the towel, which he thanked you for before starting to dry himself.

You watched Mason dry himself off as you leaned against the bathroom sink, and even though you knew he was sad, you couldn't help but run your eyes over his thick thighs, which looked more attractive every day. Mason wrapped the towel around his waist and you left the bathroom, and when you lay down on the bed, he went to the closet to put on a black sweatsuit. 

In less than five minutes he threw himself next to you on the bed, and you just reached out to stroke his damp hair.

“Wanna talk about today?” you asked and Mason closed his eyes, putting his hands on his face. “You don't have to keep it all to yourself, Mase.”

“I’m so frustrated” he said and you sighed, approaching him and placing your face in his neck. “I don't even know why I traveled with the team today if I didn't even leave the bench.”

“You were injured until last week” Mason tends to put too much pressure on himself and that's why he gets so frustrated when things don't go as he expects.

“I know, but Erik said that I was going to play today and he didn't even consider putting me in, it's ridiculous” you just put your hand on his chest and caressed it over his sweatshirt, but it was difficult because Mason spent his vacations training to be in the best shape and return to play and he got injured quickly, and only you saw how he reacted when he received the news that he was injured again.

“You need to be patient, Mason, Coach believes in you and-”

“I've been patient for so long, I just want to play and be a starter in a game for ninety minutes, is it really that difficult?” you could hear the frustration in his voice, and he knows you get sad the same way he does. “I can't stand reading so many bad messages about myself anymore, and it consumes me.”

“I know last season was tough, honey, but everyone knows how hard you worked to get back in top shape this season” you said. “Erik believes in you and so do I. You're there for a reason, you need to understand that the more you demand of yourself, the more frustrated you become.”

“Sometimes I feel like I'll never play like I did at Chelsea and-”

“You know you will, the season has started now, you have many months left to prove everyone they were wrong about you.”

“I just feel like if he had put me in today we would have had a chance, I just watched them and couldn't do anything to help the team.” 

“Today's draw wasn't your fault, and yeah, maybe you would have helped if you had played but questioning the coach is not the best idea, Mase. Who knows, maybe next time you'll start as a starter?”

Mason didn't respond and just sighed, but he pulled you against him and wrapped his legs around yours, hugging you while leaving a few kisses on your neck. You laughed out loud as he tickled you because he wouldn't let you go as he laughed with you at your screams. 

“Let me go, oh my God” you were out of breath from laughing so hard, and Mason climbed on top of you and finally stopped tickling you, and you pulled him by the neck and pressed his lips against yours. Mason leaned on the bed and when you ended the kiss he looked at you smiling, and you ran your hands over his face, because you love seeing him happy.

“Thank you for this, I know I'm being annoying but you always know how to help me” he said and you just gave him a little kiss. “You’re the best part of me, Y/n.” 

“You can talk to me about anything, right? I'll always support you, Mason.” Mason lowered his head to give you another kiss, but the sound of the doorbell interrupted you. 

“What’s that?”

“My dinner.”

“Your dinner? How about me?” 

“You said you were not hungry” you said as you walked down the stairs, smiling. 

“Looks like I'll have to eat yours then” Mason said and took the credit card before leaving the house and going to get your dinner. 

You went to the kitchen to get some plates and cutlery and returned to the living room, so you could have dinner as you always do at the coffee table watching some movie. 

“Ah, you really know how to make me feel better” he said as he saw you sitting on the carpet. 

“Do you want to watch One Tree Hill with me? Please, please” you begged and he smile. “Thank you, that’s why you’re my favorite.” 

“Just because I love you, ‘cause I can't stand hearing about Nathan and Haley anymore.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

[lotties-ashwagandha]

CLEANSED IN STILLNESS

valeria garza x reader

word count 1.2k, requested by my pickle peter @elaci

valeria gets cut by her own knife during the interrogation of a hostage, but you're there to tend to her wounds.

As you slipped through the halls of Valeria’s estate, you found peace in the silence. It was a blessing after the last few hours you’d been put through. 

A hostage had been given to Valeria by her men in the aftermath of their conflict with the Mexican Special Forces. Valeria put him in the basement, and he had been given a chance to talk of his own will, but after an hour of refusal your girlfriend had gotten impatient and things began to get messy. You were able to hear it as the man had begged for his life, and you had heard every cry of agony, every scream that cut through the tranquil stillness of the rest of the house. 

Now, silence had returned. The only noise plaguing the mansion consisted of your footsteps as you sauntered contentedly toward the kitchen. You glanced briefly down the stairs that led to the basement on your way, and an ache settled in your chest — you missed the company of your girlfriend and despised the man who had occupied her attention all day. Even if he had ended up dead, you still believed him privileged to have been her immediate focus for such a long time. 

Though she had been out of reach for a while, Valeria would be coming up from the basement soon. She had people to clean up the mess left by the interrogation so she didn’t have to. They would prepare it for the next to fall. 

You paused at the start of the next corridor. The light in the bathroom was on, and the door was left open, and you could hear items slamming about in the medicine cabinet above the sink. You jumped at the sound of something landing on tile, and a moment later Valeria’s voice filled the mansion, curses spilling out into the halls freely. 

Concern surged through you at the sight of her as you moved to the entrance to the bathroom. Blood ran down her left hand and wrist, rubbing off onto the sink as she dug through the bathroom to find something to use as a bandage. 

Valeria startled when you stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She paused, looking down at her own injured hand with an expression akin to embarrassment. 

“What happened?” you asked, and attempted to grab her arm but she pulled away. “The man you were talking to, did he do this?”

“No,” she answered dryly. She moved her gaze back to the medicine cabinet.

You noticed her knife at the edge of the sink and took it. Blood tinged the blade, and you began to understand – Valeria was masterful with knives, but she was also prone to recklessness, and in the basement interrogating a soldier of the enemy was the perfect situation for accidental wounds. 

Valeria snatched the knife from your grasp. She put it back on the edge of the sink, giving you a sharp look. “You shouldn’t be playing with knives.” 

“Apparently, neither should you,” you said, and nodded to her hand. “Let me see it.” 

She hesitated. You knew she was embarrassed of herself for the accidental cut, and you waited patiently as she took a moment of apprehension before slowly extending her arm to you. 

You found the cut at the palm of her hand. It wasn’t deep, but it stretched the entire distance of her palm, and the blood that covered her made it look gruesome. Some of it rubbed off onto your hands as you examined the injury, painting both of you in matching crimson. 

“We need to clean it,” you said as you continued to assess the cut. “Let me help you.” 

“I don’t need any help,” she replied haughtily. “It looks worse than it is.” 

“Maybe, but you’re going to get blood everywhere. And we both know you’ll fuck it up if you try bandaging it yourself.” 

The hint of a smile crossed over her lips at that. She knew you were right, and that if she hadn’t been able to find bandaging for it she might not have fucked with it at all – so with a sigh Valeria relented, giving you a short nod. 

Gently you began to clean the cut. Though you knew it stung as you cleansed it under warm water, you could see her begin to relax. She needed this — to be cared for as exhaustion and stress and every weight she carried began to overtake her. You were content to be her release. In any way she needed you would care for her, in every way she refused to care for herself. 

As you dried the cut, you were reassured by how minor it proved it be. Valeria had been right — it wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked. Yet still you cared for her, and suppressed a smile at the slight crankiness in her expression as you glanced at her before turning to the medicine cabinet. 

“Bandages aren’t in there,” Valeria said with a huff. “I already looked. I think someone stole them.” 

You found bandaging next to the gauze, and took both of them out of the cabinet. Valeria watched with surprise, brows furrowing as if you’d done a magic trick she was trying to find the secret to. 

She was patient as you bandaged and wrapped her hand. What remained of her stress melted away and she watched you contentedly. It felt natural to be tending to her, your hands cradling hers, protection she didn’t need that you would always offer anyway. It felt more natural than breathing. You would spend an eternity watching over her, caring for her every need if it would present to her any breath of joy that you were able to give. 

She watched you with admiration as you wrapped her hand. You were too engulfed in it to notice, but love danced in her eyes as she let herself be vulnerable to your ministrations. It was no small feat to her that she allowed herself to put such trust in you. 

“Now, don’t fuck with it,” you warned when you were finished and gestured to the bandaging. 

She smiled mischievously. “You know I would never.” 

Incredulously, you shook your head. You knew her hand would be unwrapped by the time you went to bed. But you weren’t bothered, because it had made both of you happy that you’d taken care of her. 

Valeria pulled you into her arms, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. Her features illustrated contentment as she stood with you, her arms wrapped around you. Even as she pulled away to examine her hand again one of her arms was still looped around your waist. 

“Thank you for this,” she said quietly. Her gaze was still fixed on her hand. “You didn’t have to.” 

“I did,” you insisted with a small smile. “Like I said, otherwise you would have gotten blood all over our bathroom. You’ve already decimated the sink.” 

She muttered something under her breath about how the sink was fine and you were just being dramatic. You pretended not to hear it, amused by her embarrassment. 

As the two of you began to clean up the bathroom, you were already devising ways to tease her about the knife accident – the jokes you would make while she cut the ingredients for lunch would be unparalleled. 

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Soundly (Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader)

Summary: You’ve injured your arm, leaving you frustratingly helpless to complete everyday tasks, like cleaning yourself. Your boyfriend and colleague Simon understands your apprehension towards accepting help for such a task and tells you how he does.

AN: Working title was “Sprain” for those of you who voted in the poll. I’ll be posting the Soap fics shortly and posting another poll for my other upcoming fics afterwards! Meanwhile, let me know what you think in replies or inbox me, tell me your thoughts on fics - present or future. 

I just want Ghost to feel loved and to recover from all the shit he went through. I did a fic for that and sharing a bed, so I’m doing this one for the reader a.k.a. me. Plus I like the head canon that Ghost is actually kinda talkative, like in the Alone mission. I know he’s probably partly chatting to Johnny to because he’s trying to keep him focused, guiding him to regroup and survive. But he’s telling dumb jokes and joking about watching his torture video. He’s got banter and trauma!

Content warnings: Allusions to Ghost’s time being tortured by Roba and the Mexican Cartel - specifically his SA as well as the reader’s. Reader is GN, no use of Y/N

Masterlist // AO3

For “just a sprain”, your elbow hurt like a bastard. It was resting in the hammock of the sling your doctor ordered you to keep on. Almost smugly, it sent a few stings across the bone when you were also instructed to restrict your movements and get support to complete day-to-day tasks before you were signed off on a month’s medical leave – pending review at the end of it for being brought back to work.

It was half your fault. The sprain in the first place was caused by some asshole who would not go down quietly and attempted to dislocate your limb. Thankfully, your training automatically twisted you into a position preventing that but then you had to shoot that asshole and your gun was in the arm he’d injured. The bullet that you fired solidified the damage and you were forced to focus hard on aiming with your non-dominant hand whilst slugging it over to the Heli half a klick to the west for recon. You didn’t have to shoot the guy straight away. You’d kicked him down and he was too far from his own weapon to have made it before you could have swapped your gun to your other hand and ended his life the same miserable way. But nah, in the heat of gunfire, you’d decided to end the fight as quick as possible then ran like a bat out of hell back to safety where the rest of your crew was headed.

Simon had known you long enough – and dated you long enough – to not treat you like glass. He wouldn’t insult you like that. Therefore you were very grateful that he was the one to take you home, and that his driving was a lot steadier and smooth on the motorway.

Letting you open the front door, he carried both his and your bags inside, ready to start your medical leave this instant. He was heading out of the hall with his shoes dropped loudly onto the rack when he asked:

“You want anything specific for tea?”

“Nah, I’m good with whatever.”

Despite years of therapy, this injury had dealt a hefty blow to your pride; you didn’t want to be any more of a burden than you were going to be over the next few weeks. Thank God you’d been to his place enough times for it to be considered familiar.

From the airing cupboard, you collected the towel that Simon had bought you after your fifth stay here and smiled at the memory of shopping for it together. He’d asked for what colour you preferred then gathering other items into the trolley that were the same shade: toothbrush, wash cloth, cup to sit by the bathroom sink. He was nice like that.

The bathroom door locked behind you, the final ebbs of afternoon reaching in through frosted glass. You thanked the sun for enabling you to keep the lights off; the buzz that accompanied their stark spark on the silky tiles was always too much for you. However as warm as the daylight was, it failed to soothe your state. When you tried to retrieve the memory of how you’d gotten this t-shirt on in the first place, your mind offered you a blank slate and tears of frustration bubbling over, stinging worse than the injury as you tried to warp it against its will. But to no avail. Your bitten tongue surrendered so that the crying could commence with your t-shirt still stuck on your body.

Gentle rapping at the door didn’t halt anything. Surrendering felt like an admission of weakness, failure, and it poisoned you against yourself as you twisted the lock in the handle and slumped on the rim of the bath.

A pair of plain-socked feet appeared at the top of your line of sight, lingering on the cobalt carpet side of the door frame.

“Can I borrow your scissors please?” You asked, toying with a stray string dangling from the hem.

“You gonna stab me?” Simon inquired semi-sarcastically.

“Yes.” It was a pathetic little reply. But Simon pushed off the bath, belongings tinkling against one another as he rooted around then retrieved a small pair of scissors from the top shelf.

He sat down beside you on the rim, holding out the scissors by the blade, “It’s a nice shirt.”

You wiped your nose on the hem before taking the scissors, “It’s just Primark.”

“I can help you out of it, if it is Primark’s finest.”

“Was just cut it off.”

But of course your dominant hand was tied up in the sling, and you only just realised now.

“I could help you take it off.”

You’d never been undressed around Simon. The closest you’d gotten were jogging bottoms you’d cut into knee-length shorts and the sleeves of your t-shirt pushed onto your shoulders whilst you both worked out at opposite ends of the gym. Towards the end of your set, you mopped at your brow with the hem of your shirt once and the sliver of skin nearly sent Simon into anaphylactic shock.

He knew why you grappled with the notion of undressing. But he didn’t ever linger on you going elsewhere to change. Across your relationship, and even before it started, he’d shown you love in so many other ways that you would forget about what had happened to you.

Today was the first time he addressed it: “I understand why you wouldn’t want me to help.”

Without moving your head, your watchful stare latched onto his adjusting to the nuisance of sitting on a thin perch of porcelain. He withdrew his skull balaclava from its suffocating in his pocket and began kneading at it until the eyehole faced the ceiling you’d stared at many times, wishing you could be more intimate with the man you loved more than life.

 “Your reasons aren’t so different from mine.” And he held out the mask to you.

The olive branch was accepted and you thumbed over the skull plate as best you could with the scissors still in your grip. Only when your thumbnail caught against the paint depicting a cheekbone did it dawn on you what your boyfriend was referring to.

“Simon-”

“None of that,” He interrupted you, gently, firmly, “I get it. I don’t wanna bother you if you don’t want me here.”

He rubbed along your shoulder as you matched your deep breaths to his, resting your eyes to bask in his comfort and crushing the mask in your loose fist. You’d always equated it to anonymity. Never had you thought of linking it to another form of comfort.

“You can bathe with your clothes on,” Simon suggested after a minute’s silence.

“Do you know how hard it is to remove wet denim?” You muttered with a crooked smile.

“I do,” and he pressed a kiss to your forehead – his preferred place to do so. “Let’s give this a go.”

You handed back his balaclava and took in his bare face, the medical mask – the one he’d been wearing whilst you were in the hospital and all the way home - gone, his expression carefully crafted to be neutral so that you didn’t have to be.

He eased your sling off you after the taps were thundering steaming water into the tub. Then he vanished to his room, returning with a pair of baggy sports shorts. Cradling them like a baby, your nose welcomed their softness and the steam whilst Simon knelt onto the fluffy bathmat, nodding after splashing the bathwater and twisting the taps into silence.

“I’m gonna stink if I don’t wash properly,” You whispered.

After opening his palms to you, Simon took your shorts and arranged them on the floor, “I’ll get you some wet wipes to use while we wait for your arm to heal up.”

You held onto his shoulders whilst he undid your jeans and eased them down your legs, his hands careful to stay hidden in the fabric whilst you stepped out of them and into the shorts. Simon to pulled them up to your hips.

“Why did the magician take a bath?” He asked you as you lowered yourself into the water.

“I dunno, why?”

“To clean up his act.”

Your chest quivered, struggling to hold in your groans and giggles whilst Simon pumped some blueberry body wash into his palm, “That’s good.”

Tenderly he circled the soap across your forearm, “Fancy another?”

“Go on.” You were nothing if not his little enabler, indulging in his humour even after the rest of 141 had lightly roasted him for it.

“Knock, knock.”

Your free hand fiddled with the sodden hem of your t-shirt, “Who’s there?”

“Dwayne.”

“Dwayne who?”

Soaking the flannel and wringing it out over your arm, Simon began to wash the suds away, “Dwayne the bathtub before I dwown.”

Your smile was not dampened by the tears that rolled down your cheeks and dripped onto the shallow waterline. Instead, you focused your blurry vision on Simon’s hoodie sleeves that were pushed up to his elbows, those broad forearms sprinkled with droplets and soapsuds.

When Simon was lathering up some more body wash, you offered your own joke: “What did the man say after he swallowed a clock and went to the toilet?”

“What?”

“Watch out.”

Simon snorted loudly whilst carefully manipulating your injured arm amidst the blueberry bubbles.

You wiped a new tear away on your shoulder: “I’ve already told Kyle but you can tell it to Johnny.”

“Much obliged.”

With permission and a slow touch, he started soaping up your shins. His contact always lingered for hours on your skin. This felt like a polish, not a scratch or a dent, which is why you felt so overwhelmed now, just as you did that first time he gave you a proper bear hug. You didn’t mind the blueberry, something else to focus on instead of letting yourself meander towards conjuring disturbing imaginations of what you’d just learnt about Simon’s capture in Mexico.

He let you take over for washing your thighs, sitting on the toilet still talking to you with a smile that cracked up his face like the scar, from lip to brow. His eyes never strayed from your face, though it never felt like you were a target down his scope, more like feeling the sun first thing in the morning with a delicate breeze that danced around your being. Such a gaze wasn’t alien to Simon, even if he rarely showed it to you, and never to anyone else. You were just grateful that he was able to be like this, and that he still chose to.

That same stare, he held it whilst draping a towel around your shoulders, patting over your arms before he gathered it at the front for you to hold in your healthy hand. Then he collected a pile of clean clothes from the bedroom, placing them onto the closed toilet lid, you noted the crisply ironed button up folded on top. You settled for nestling your head against his chest since you were unable to hug him.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll make dinner.”

The door was locked after Simon disappeared behind it. You did end up cutting yourself out of the shirt, rest in peace. Fogged-up, the mirror wasn’t so bad to stare at whilst you moisturised with your good hand. You could still feel where Simon’s calloused hands had brushed over your skin, tingling in each follicle, and it was protected by the button-up you were able to slide on – one of the few Simon owned. His bulk was once again your gain; the shirt was loose enough to give you some wiggle room whilst dressing.

Clattering from the kitchen caught Simon in the act of putting away the ironing board. He was taking loud and rehearsed deep breaths that hissed through the fabric of his freshly-donned balaclava, the board under his arm before he tossed it into its assigned slot. His hand shook as it released the cupboard door handle, searching for something to distract himself with until he latched his stare onto you bunching your shirt in the front.

“I can’t do my buttons up,” You said quietly.

Your stomach impulsively sucked in on itself when his hands reached for the buttons before it, joining them with the fabric. Nevertheless, your gaze found solace in the thatch of fine chest hair growing in the lowest peak of his V-neck.

Simon started from the bottom button and made his way up. With each wince, his fingers stalled. But you knew he’d never hurt you, never on purpose and never like that. He made steady progress until complete and even helped you replace your sling. But then he sniffed and brushed his nose briefly, stepping away and back to the kitchen. For five minutes he alternated between sifting through the cupboards and staring helplessly into the fridge, his face washed out by the stagnant light inside. You took the time to help him in one of the ways you knew how.

“I’ll order us a takeaway.”

Immediately he slammed shut the fridge door, “You’re a fucking star.”

You were not put off by his pacing back and forth, nor were you by his hovering over you like a gargoyle whilst you tapped at the screen – which you held in a way for him to see clearly in case he wanted to add something. A wide berth allowed you to approach him on the couch with the takeaway when it arrived half an hour later (always reliable, hence why it was your go-to takeaway place). Simon also accepted the drink you brought him, but only because he’d already gotten you one plus two pain meds he made sure you took after getting some food into your stomach first.

The cushioned lap trays you’d invested in were already paying for themselves.

Dinner inhaled and rendering you quite soporific, you mirrored Simon’s earlier actions and tentatively shuffled closer to him, “Is this ok?”

“Yeah.” His arm dropped to around your waist, and you tugged on his wrist to keep it there. Only then did you tentatively wrap yourself around his full belly.

“Fuckin’ softie,” He said under his breath. That didn’t stop him from giving you a little squeeze – his hand no longer trembling - and sinking himself lower so that there was no pressure on your sprain. He turned the volume down a little, which sparked inspiration in your mind.

Half hiding in his t-shirt, you projected loud enough for him to hear you: “The local TV controller museum shut down due to no visitors. Turns out people aren’t remotely interested.”

“Have you been researching these instead of doing your paperwork?”

“What makes you think I haven’t been doing my paperwork?”

Simon looked down at you, those expressive eyes communicating both the “are you fucking for real?” and the “you’re lucky you’re cute” in equal parts. But from the way his balaclava was balanced on his face, you could tell he was smiling at you. So you smiled back at him then snuggled back against him with a contented sigh and the existence of your new joke book still a secret (for now).

The next time you opened your eyes, it was much darker in the living room. A blanket was tucked around your legs. The glow of “Are you still watching Phil Wang: Philly Philly Wang Wang?” from the flat-screen, despite that not being what you were watching when you first drifted off, bathed you in enough low light to allow you a comfortable adjustment period. You squinted up at your boyfriend. Head back in the pillows, his chest was rising and falling with each breath he drew and released through his nose. You adjusted the blanket around to cover his legs too and, tucking yourself back into your bundle, both you and Simon slept soundly.

[thisreadswhatever]

Anything For The Club: Part Six

Will you betray Jax to protect The Club?

series masterlist

[description]: jax teller x female reader, reader x oc characters

[wordcount]: 3.2k+

[series cw]: 18+, female reader, swearing, sexual harassment/assault (non-canon characters), alcohol use, mix of fluff, smut and angst throughout, p in v sex, teasing, violence, gun use, mentions of blood, murder, blackmail

[authors note]: and that’s the end! hope you enjoyed this as much as i did writing it :)

“Assume you’re used to riding shotgun”, The President asked as he handed you a black helmet. 

You put it on and straddled yourself along the back of his bike. “Not usually in heels.” 

Realisation of the betrayal you were committing was crushing you. Here you were, sat on another man’s bike, about to ride off into nowhere so he could do god knows what to you. The guilt weighed on your chest as you gripped The President's waist from behind. You reminded yourself the reason you were doing this, Protect The Club. Protect Jax. 

“First time for everything, sweetheart.”

He kicked the bike alive, it roaring fiercely as he rode out of the parking lot. 

The journey was short. He pulled into a motel lot two blocks up the road. It was a quiet and dingy motel, known for its drug hookups and escorts. The exact kind of place you used to work before you had agreed with Jax to run Diosa. Jax didn’t like sharing, you were his and that was vital to him. You’d agreed that you’d both be entirely faithful to one another there on out, and you knew after this, he’d never forgive you. 

“Classy.” You muttered as you pulled the helmet off your head. 

“Ain’t gonna matter where you are once I’m inside you, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

He placed the bike on its kickstand, and you followed as he made his way across the car park, up a flight of stairs and to room numbered 208. The curtains were already closed on the outside. He grabbed a yellow key card out from his back pocket, unlocking the door. 

You stalked your way inside the room, hearing the bolt echo behind you as he secured the latch on the door. 

The room was a simple, one large crimson bed centered between wooden side tables, home to two outdated lamps and a dusty bible. The President wandered straight to the mattress, sitting along the edge. He placed the manilla envelope on the side table closest to him before he pulled his cutte off. He slapped the mattress, coaxing you to sit beside him. Across from the front door was a bathroom that you immediately streamlined for. “I’m just gonna freshen up.” 

He laid back falling flat across the bed, “don’t leave me waitin’.” 

You closed the door behind you, sighing of relief for the brief moment alone. You looked at yourself in the mirror above the sink. It was cracked slightly along the edge, distorting the image in front of you. You turned the tap, letting the water run. The sound of the streaming fossett was soothing, and you closed your eyes with your hands clutching the sink, trying to overcome the sickness you felt burning through your stomach. You wanted to vomit. You took your jacket off, thrusting it to the floor, trying to breathe as you struggled for air. You’d never had a panic attack before but you imagined this is what it felt like. 

He’s got you right where he wanted, you told yourself. Alone in a motel and not a soul knows you’re here. You searched your jacket for your phone, before remembering you left it in the car at the diner. Calling for help was out of the equation. Your chest was tight, the sound of your heart thudding engulfing your ears as you tried to gasp for air. 

You didn’t have a phone, but you did have the gun. You could go out there and shoot him, take the envelope and run for the hills. And potentially start a gang war by killing The President of another crew, one that’s associated with the Mexican cartels. Dumb idea. 

Your last option, just give him what he wants, get the photos, and be done. You’d already made it this far. The guy was hardly the worst looking man on the planet. He was monstrous and crass but it would be a sacrifice of a moment compared to the loss of everything Jax knew. 

You let the water run through your fingers before you turned it off. You pulled your hair to the side of your neck, the cold water on your hands dripping down your skin. You can do this, you tried to convince yourself. Protect The Club. Protect Jax. You were going to have to break his heart, to save his club.

You heard a knock on the door at the same time it abruptly opened, not giving you any chance to respond. 

“I said don’t keep me waitin’, little lady.” 

“Just had to pull myself together.”

He crept towards you, and you instinctively turned into him, your back pressing into the sink behind you. 

“I can help you out.” 

His hands found your hair, clutching at the root as he pulled your head back. Your hands were grasping the edges of the porcelain, as he brought himself against your body, pressing his lower half into you. You were unable to move. He held you there, watching your face, taking in the sight of you completely at his disposal. 

Tears welled in your eyes, unable to be forced back this time, and they began to stream from your face. You realised at this moment that you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t force yourself to want this man. He placed a hand on your cheek, wiping away the drops with his thumb. 

“You look so pretty when you cry.” 

He pressed his face into yours, kissing you viciously. His tongue tangled against your lips as it searched for entry, but failed as you kept your mouth forced shut. He pulled your head back again by your hair, staring into your eyes. His eyebrows raised as he watched you sobbing, furious from your apprehension.

“I’m not gonna fuck a corpse. You better give me something back.” 

His hand released from your hair as he brought them down to your waist, pulling you from the sink. You stumbled against him, trying to find your balance. You wanted more time, a chance to think or just pause this from happening, to try and find a way out. 

You forced yourself to find his lips, kissing him back. You entwined your fingers through his hair, hoping you could sell the facade that you wanted him too. A smile formed at the corner of his mouth while yours did all the work. 

He seemed to relax before you pulled away, “should we go to the bed?” 

“Fuck the bed. I want you here.” 

He dragged the hem of your dress to expose your underwear, pulling you tight to his body by your ass. You squirmed at the feel of his hands on you this way, but tried to play calm to control the situation. 

Your heel tangled into your jacket beneath you, and you could feel your gun was right under your feet. You kissed him again while he palmed at your backside, dragging his fingers under the fabric of your panties. You lowered your hands down his frame, leading them to his jeans, rubbing against his erection. You crouched down to your knees, your eyes never leaving his. 

He groaned aloud as he watched you undo his belt buckle, your face parallel with his dick. “I knew you wanted this, little slut.” 

You ignored his degradation, and carried on feeling him with your hands. His head fell backwards, and just as his eyes left yours, you began to press your mouth against his cock, gnawing at the hard membrane covered in denim. Your mouth continued to distract him, as you searched the floor with your free hand, desperate to find the gun in your jacket pocket. 

Just as your hand reached the metal piece, your fingers twisting along the handle, The President looked down at you. 

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” 

You pulled the piece from the jacket, aiming it up at his chest. “Back the fuck up. Now.”

He chuckled at your advance, looking at the gun point towards him as he slowly stepped backwards. 

“Maybe you ain’t so smart.”

He backed through the doorway as you stood, continuing to aim the gun. He reached the bed, sitting upright on the edge, his jeans draped around his thighs. He smirked at you, looking directly down the barrel. “We had a deal, little lady.” 

You gripped the gun tighter, “I’m not your fucking lady.” 

A chuckle escaped his teeth, “You really do need my dick in that dirty mouth of yours.” You paced towards the side table, holding your aim on him as you walked. You kept your focus on his face as you reached for the envelope. “You got any idea what you're starting?” 

You placed the envelope under your arm, grasping the gun with both hands again, edging yourself further from the bed, until you were backed against the far wall of the room. 

“Nothing I’m not prepared to finish.” 

He held his arms out wide, taunting you. “I got a long list of enemies who would do anything for the shot you got right now.”

“I don’t want to kill you, asshole.

I want to leave this room, and pretend I never met you. I want you to leave my Club the fuck alone. I want to go back to my life before you existed.”

He closed his arms, and stood up slowly, pulling up his jeans and clasping his belt buckle back together. “Then I guess you better kill me.”

You readjusted the gun in front of you, “sit back down!” 

He ignored you, continuing to pace forward, step by step. “I can see why he picked you as his old lady. Got looks and balls.” 

“I said I don’t want to kill you, asshole. Not that I won’t.” 

He grinned, reaching for you, extending his arms out. “Don’t be like that, baby.” 

He was inches from you again, his chest now pressed against the barrel. You pushed it into him further, “I fucking mean it. Back the fuck up!” 

He didn’t waiver. “Drop the gun, sweetheart.” 

You pulled the trigger. 

The sound of the gun jamming rang through your ears, and you stared at him wide eyed. He slammed the gun from your hand, the metal flinging across the room. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the wall behind you, the envelope under your arms falling to the ground, images of The Club spreading across the carpet beneath your feet. He pushed you with force against the wall, crushing your wrists in his grasp. 

He spoke low into your ear, “No more choices.”

You tried to retreat, but the weight from his body engulfed you, making it impossible for you to move. The stubble of his beard scraped against your skin as his mouth moved against your neck. You screamed for him to stop, but the pleas fell on deaf ears, seeming to entice him further. His body was entrapping you against the wall so harshly that his hands could move freely, creeping their way under your dress as he tore at the seams, ripping it open. You recalled how it felt to be trapped by this man that first night you met at Diosa, and you knew now that had the eyes of the entire lobby not been present, this would’ve been your fate then. You closed your eyes, giving up the fight. 

Suddenly he stopped, interrupted by a repeated banging on the door.

“Y/n?” 

“Jax! Jax! I’m in-”, his hand slapped against your mouth. You bit the skin as hard as you could, but he didn’t release. Instead he plowed your body into the ground, laying over you as you crumbled to the floor, crushing you into the gap between the wall and bed.

He stared into your eyes as he held your mouth shut, whispering to you through his clenched teeth.

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll kill you with my bare hands.” 

Tears streamed as your muffled screams paused. You clutched his hand against your mouth, trying to pry it from your face. You could only listen as Jax repeatedly thrust his entire weight against the wood of the door, the metal latch bulking under the pressure. The bolt gave in, and the door flew open. 

“Jesus-” Jax was armed and reeling as he looked around the room. Your jacket, the gun and the images strung out across the motel room. 

Your mouth was released from his grip as he pulled you by your hair. You winced at the pain, trying to find your footing as you stood up. He held you there like a prize, showing off your exposed and broken frame, tears pouring down your face. Jax’s core was stiff, glaring at The President with a look you hadn’t ever seen from him before. 

His jaw flexed as he put his gun back into his cutte, speaking slowly through his gritted teeth. 

“Get your hands off her.”

Your blackmailer smiled, his hands twisting further into your hair. “We were only just getting started.” His hands never left you, taunting Jax further. He looked at you up and down, licking his lips before turning back to Jax. “You got a good one here, Pres.”

“You got one more chance. Then I’m done talking.”

He pulled your hair back further, and you swayed as your balance was rocked.

“Oh, relax. Only wanted to try out the slut for myself.” 

That was it, Jax lunged for him. Any restriction of his fury was completely unleashed, as he stormed across the room, grabbing The President by the head, slamming it against the wall. You were finally released from his grasp, and threw yourself across the bed, rolling onto the other side of the room. 

You watched as they fought against the motel floor, Jax on top of him, repeatedly smashing his head into the carpet with all his strength. The bangs against the upstairs floor rocked the supports beneath it, thudding as Jax gasped from the repeated exertion. The President heaved his elbow into Jax’s stomach, and he fell backwards sitting upright, his back slamming against the side table. The table lamp crashed to the floor as Jax launched himself back into the President, crumbling him again. Jax was on top of the President, pounding his fists into his face repeatedly. He smiled at Jax, showing his bloody teeth as he took the beating. 

But he didn’t let up, he continued to crush into him, his elbow dropping against his flesh, further forcing his face further into the carpet. Jax’s fists rammed into his face, for what felt like eternity, as blood poured from The President’s nose and mouth. 

The President reached beneath him, grabbing a knife from the sheath that hung from his jeans. He sliced into Jax’s leg, and he screamed out in agony, making you flinch. Jax dropped his knee onto The President’s hand, crushing the knife out of his grasp. 

His leg was bleeding through his jeans, but he didn’t stop. You watched as he endlessly beat the President into nothing, pure rage fueling his hands forward. Blood sprayed from the open wounds of his face onto the wall beside the bed frame, covering the floor and Jax too. Only once The President stopped moving, the groans from his mouth silencing, did Jax stop. 

He was on top of him when he glanced at you, hiding in the corner of the room, your dress tore to shreds and tears streaming down your face. 

He crawled off of The President’s lifeless body, crouching towards you. He wrapped you in his arms, and the relief of feeling Jax holding you again turned your tears into sobs. 

“You okay?”

“I’m so- sorry-”

“Shhh. Darlin’ you got nothing to be sorry for.”

He cupped your face in his bloody hands, his rings glistening red from the liquid. His eyes matched yours, water pooling at the lids. 

“Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head. “A few minutes later and he-”, you couldn’t continue as the sobs poured from your chest. He didn’t need you to say anymore. He hugged you tight against him as he stroked your hair, soothing your wimpers into submission. You looked up at him as he wiped the tears from your face.

“I had no choice- he was going to rat- he had proof-”

“I know, darlin’. Nero told me everything.”

“He did? But how did you find me?”

“Your car was still at the diner but you weren’t there. I didn’t know what to think-” he flinched at the memory. “I just kept riding, then I saw the bike parked outside the motel. I was checking rooms and then I heard you scream-” You kissed him before he could continue. His hands stroked the back of your head, “I’m here now, darlin. It’s okay.” 

“He’s the President of another club.” You wanted to look at the carnage but you couldn’t bring yourself away from Jax’s face. 

He took a deep breath, looking up from you to the body laying in a pool of blood across the motel floor. His body tensed as anger filled him again, his tongue pressing against the bottom of his mouth as it straightened into a hard line. “He’s nothing now.” 

You sat up from Jax’s arms, watching him as he stared at The President, his eyes shifting from care and sorrow and  morphing into pure rage once again. “They’re all done. Nobody is ever gonna hurt you again. You’re mine and anyone who touches you- they’re as dead as that guy and everyone that’s ever associated with him.” 

He shifted onto his knee as he stood up, taking off his cutte. He removed the black SAMCRO t-shirt he had on and handed it to you, before putting his hoodie and cutte back on himself again. You placed the t-shirt over your ripped dress, and stood up alongside him. Jax walked over towards The President’s body, collecting the printed photographs that surrounded him on the floor. He flicked through the pictures, scoffing at the evidence.

“This prick’s been trailing us for weeks. These are from a run two months ago.” He carried the stack into the bathroom as he examined the images, before igniting the corners with his lighter, leaving them to burn in the sink. He watched as the flames turned the paper into ash. “Are there more of these?” 

You shrugged your shoulders, “he said this was all he had.” 

Jax picked your jacket off the bathroom floor. He walked back to you, draping it over your shoulders. “Doesn’t even matter. His crew is good as dust.” 

You kneeled to the ground, reaching under the bed for the jammed gun. Jax looked at the weapon in your hands, “Did you try to use it?” 

You handed the metal piece to him, “piece of shit jammed.” 

He hugged you again, wrapping his arms around you. “That’s my girl. Least I got to pummel the cunt to death myself.” He placed the gun into his holder. “Let’s get you home.” Jax held your waist as you both headed for the door. 

“Jax?” 

He looked down at you, “you okay darlin’?” 

Your eyes peered back at the bloodied mess that had unfolded on the motel room floor.

“Maybe we should call that cleanup guy you know.” 

Jax smiled, kissing you reassuringly on the side of your head as you walked together. “I’m on it.”  

———

find my masterlist here

[rizlowwritessortof]

Jacklesversebingo Square 4!!

Written for Jacklesversebingo2024. The prompt for this one: TV Remote - Air Freshener - Rubber Duck. Yeah. 😁😂 (Included in the fic in bold) Just silly and fluffy!

Your week at work has been shit, and the guys are getting on your nerves with their constant bickering. And then you walk into the shower room, and BOOM.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1527

Warnings: Temper Tantrum? No smut (that's a warning for some people 😂)

Divider from @strangergraphics-archive

You pull into the bunker garage and just sit there for a minute, basking in the feeling of just being home. Work this week has been a bitch – one cluster-fuck after another, a boss that loves to pile the responsibility for untangling said cluster-fucks squarely on your desk, and the stress has taken a toll. Your neck, shoulders and back are in knots, a dull headache throbs at your temples, and you just want to grab some food, your pajamas, and soak in a hot, fragrant bubble bath until it all melts away.

You walk into the library, and a mouth-watering aroma makes your stomach growl. Apparently Dean is cooking, and you kick off your shoes, wandering into the kitchen. “Hey, there she is,” he greets you, gesturing to the table, where Sam is already seated and a plate waits for you. “Made you a steak and baked potato. Want a beer?”

You inhale appreciatively as he deposits the food on your plate, giving him a tired, grateful smile. “Thank you, Dean. This smells wonderful.” He grins, that little boy look in his eyes that he gets when you praise him for anything, and it makes you happy. And the little kiss he plants on your lips doesn’t hurt, either.

You eat, and chat, and complain about work, listen to the boys rail about what an asshole your boss is, and how he should appreciate you more. It’s nice, and comforting, and you feel a little of the tension leaving you.

And then the bickering starts.

They haven’t had a hunt in three weeks, and they’re getting on each others’ nerves. It’s been going on all week, along with your work issues, and you just don’t have the patience for it. Not tonight. So you quietly get up from the table, put your dishes in the sink, and head for your room. You shed your work clothes and put on your fluffy robe, put your hair up and head for the shower room, ready for that lovely escape from your annoying reality.

The door to the shower room is closed, so you open it and walk in, stopping mid-step. You completely forgot about the mess in there. Dean is a neat freak when it comes to the kitchen, and Sam is usually pretty clean. But, for some reason, they just always assume you will take care of the bathroom. The last few days you have just silently refused to do anything about it, and it has slowly gotten completely out of control.

There are wet towels on the floor, or draped over every available surface, and random pieces of clothing have been left here and there, including a pile of bloody, messy clothes from the last hunt. Both sinks are covered with toothpaste and whiskers from shaving. The room smells like something large and hairy has crawled in there and died after eating a Mexican restaurant.

You stand there for a minute, your temper coming to a full boil before you turn around and leave the room, marching towards the library where you can hear the brothers still sniping at each other. You walk up to the table, grab the book nearest you, and slam it to the floor, the sound echoing through the room. The boys both look at you, eyes wide and mouths open, and you unload.

“Why is it that you two can manage to clean up after yourselves in every room in this place except the bathroom? Is this a hotel? Do I look like I work for housekeeping? I just wanted to run a hot bubble bath, soak and relax in peace, but oh my god the smell in there… If you guys are going to binge on burritos, then please for the love of god at least maybe buy some air fresheners! And I am not cleaning up your disgusting sinks or picking up your dirty clothes and wet towels, are you fucking toddlers?”

“Sorry, meant to clean up in there, but…” Dean started, but you hold up a hand, cutting him off.

“Another thing – I have listened to you two bickering like a couple of old ladies all week. And when I try to escape that, go watch TV, you” (you point at Dean) “come in and grab the remote and start channel surfing at every commercial, and then I always miss half of my show because it’s already started again by the time you go back to it. And you always expect me to spend my whole weekend doing the laundry. What did you do before I lived here? I am not your maid, I work my ass off just as much as you do, and I’m done.”

You turn and march off to your room, throwing your robe on the bed and digging clothes from your dresser. The guys are still sitting there in shock when you come back out, fully clothed and jacket on. “I’m going to town. Keep your phones on, I’m gonna need a ride home later.” You storm out, climbing into your car and heading for the bar in Lebanon, fully intending to get shit-faced.

Several hours later, you weave your way out to the parking lot of the bar where Dean sits waiting for you in the Impala. It’s only around 10:30 and you’re tipsy, but you’re not fuzzy-headed drunk, your tirade from earlier in the night completely clear in your mind. Yes, you had reason to be frustrated, but the boys hadn’t deserved your temper tantrum.

You climb into the car, feeling Dean’s eyes on you as you settle in and close the door. You can’t bear to look at him yet, and he doesn’t say anything, just backs out and heads for the bunker. You both go inside, and Sam is waiting as you reach the bottom of the stairs.

You move past him and turn to face them both as Dean joins his brother. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve…” Dean shakes his head as he steps forward and pulls you into a hug.

“We’re sorry.”

Sam speaks up next. “We have been kinda taking you for granted. We didn’t mean to.”

You reach out a hand to take his, giving it a squeeze. “Forgive me for yelling at you?” you ask them softly. Sam joins the hug for a second, dropping a kiss to the top of your head before smiling at you and leaving you and Dean alone.

Dean bends to give you a gentle kiss. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Okay? Now I need you to come with me.”

You let him lead you down the hall to the shower room, and he opens the door, waving you by with one arm. You step into the room, which now looks clean on a molecular level. The tile shines, the porcelain sparkles, the chrome fixtures gleam. The air smells clean and fresh, and you finally remember to close your mouth. “You cleaned. I mean, you really cleaned. This is amazing.”

“Yeah. You were right, we were pretty disgusting. Sorry, babe.” He pulls you into his arms again and hugs you tight. “Why don’t you go get ready for bed, I’ll be there in a minute.” You squeeze him back and head for the kitchen to grab water before going to the bedroom.

You are down to your bra and panties when Dean comes into the room, and he grabs your fluffy robe from the hook on the back of the door on his way in. He approaches, tossing the robe onto the bed and reaching behind you to unhook your bra, his eyes on yours as he brushes the straps from your shoulders and takes it off. Then he goes to one knee in front of you, slipping his fingers into the top of your panties to pull them down your legs, letting you balance with one hand on his shoulder as he lets you step out of them. He stands, grabbing your robe, and holds it for you. “Put it on, I need you to come with me,” he says softly.

He leads you back to the shower room, all the way to the back, and a smile replaces your confusion as you see what waits for you.

The large claw foot tub is full of steaming water, mounds of bubbles floating on the surface, a rubber duck perched on top. There is a stack of clean, fluffy towels nearby, and the table at the head of the tub and the shelf on the wall behind it are laden with candles, the space full of their flickering light. You can’t help but giggle at the duck, and Dean grins as you stretch up to kiss him. “I love you.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” he says, pulling you close for another lingering kiss. “So – are you gonna get in?”

You step back, letting your robe slip to the floor. “Are you gonna get in with me?”

“Hell, yeah. But I get to play with the duck.”

“Fine with me. I’m gonna have better things to play with,” you tease as you move close to unzip his jeans.

Tags for my lovelies: 

 @saenalife    @deanscarlett    @jensensgotyoudean    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog 

   @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid      @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel  

  @darcia22    @winchesterprincessbride    @ellen-reincarnated1967    @eyes-of-a-disney-princess      @deanslittleangel2y5  

  @melanie451        @spectaculacular-sammy     @bookchic20    @jodyri    @selma-jean-blog   

        @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain  

  @undecided-garden    @ceeceewinchester    @typicalweirdbookworm          @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit    @youtoldalie 

   @tanithlowisabamf-blog    @deandoesthingstome    @jxackles    @nerdwholikesword    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic  

  @kreweofimp  @gabavaldman    @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog    @darkx143    @disassociativedogma   

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  @sandlee44   @wingedcatninja  @evansrogerskitten   @emoryhemsworth  @peaceinourtime82 

 @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior  @sarcasmqueen74   @maliburenee     @mrsjenniferwinchester   @yeehawbitchs  

 @emily-winchester  @hobby27    spnbaby-67   @zepskies  @ladysparkles78  

@alwaystiredandconfused   @just-another-busyfangirl    @muhahaha303    @deansimpalababy    @kr804573  

@suckitands33    @ej13928    @lmhf1

[rusticahouse]

To complete the transformation, incorporate iron lamps and traditional Mexican decor elements into your bathroom. Iron lamps, whether wall-mounted or as iron pendant lights, bring a touch of old-world charm and durability. Their intricate designs and warm lighting complement the vibrant colors and textures of the Talavera tiles and copper fixtures. Additionally, consider adding Mexican decor pieces such as handwoven textiles, pottery, and rustic wooden accents. Woven baskets, colorful rugs, and ornate mirrors can further enhance the cultural ambiance, making your bathroom a delightful retreat that reflects the soul and artistry of Mexico. By thoughtfully combining these elements, you create a unique and inviting space that not only pays homage to Mexican heritage but also provides a luxurious and serene experience.

[mycustomcopper]

Adding a copper bathroom sink is more than just a design choice; it’s a commitment to sustainability. Copper is a durable and recyclable material, making it a perfect choice for eco-conscious homeowners looking to reduce their environmental footprint. Unlike many mass-produced sinks that rely on non-renewable resources, a Mexican copper sink is crafted with sustainability in mind. Each piece is forged using traditional methods that have been passed down through generations, ensuring not only a lower environmental impact but also a sink that will last for years to come. The natural patina that develops over time adds to its charm, giving your bathroom an evolving aesthetic that ages gracefully. Infusing your bathroom with a touch of Mexican flair can be effortlessly achieved with the addition of a handmade copper sink. These sinks are often created by skilled artisans in Mexico, who draw upon centuries of tradition to produce stunning, functional pieces. The rich, warm tones of the copper bring an earthy, rustic charm that complements various design styles, from traditional to modern. Pair your oval copper sink with colorful Talavera tiles, wrought iron fixtures, and vibrant textiles to complete the look. Not only will you enjoy a beautiful and functional bathroom, but you'll also celebrate and support the artistry and heritage of Mexican craftsmanship.

[nightlyrequiem]

Latrodectus

III. Crime of Passion

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

AO3

Latrodectus Mactans, otherwise known as the Black Widow, are known for their uncouth treatment of their partners. The 'widow' part of their name stemming from the common occurrence of the female devouring her partner after mating.

Tags/Warnings: Abduction, Violence, Emotional Manipulation, harassment, A Dabble of Psychological Torture, Drugging, Breaking And Entering, Fem!reader

================================================

Valeria never learned to share. When she was a child, a girl on the playground tried to take one of the dolls she was playing with. It ended with the little girl missing clumps of hair and Valeria being dragged away by her parents. Her territorial behavior shifted from toys to people. Marie and Elle were lapses in judgement. Valeria remained untethered by obsession during her remaining years of high school. At eighteen she had the brilliant idea to join the local military. Valeria knew she could climb the ranks. She was swift, strong, and cunning. Much to her anger and disappointment, she did not receive the recognition she rightfully earned. She shared her frustration with a woman from her unit. Julietta was strong and blunt. Unafraid to say what she was thinking and unafraid to stand up to the few sexist men on the squad.

Julietta had traits that Valeria admired. Her fierce personality drew Valeria in, and for once her interest was reciprocated. The two had a lengthy affair. Heated moments in closets where all Valeria was ever allowed, and it was never enough. She was so close to getting what she wanted. Valeria orbited Julietta, baring her teeth at any and all perceived competition. Julietta wasn't looking for anything serious. Not with Valeria anyway. Valeria's behavior along with Julietta's own inability to stick with one partner for too long caused her to start pulling away. Valeria could feel the shift immediately and it sent her over the edge.

While still working for the Mexican Special Forces, she saw opportunity with the local cartel. Big enough to bring the right person power and money, but still small enough that one could swoop in and build it up. What she was unable to do in the army, she did with ease in the cartel. Her violent nature and ruthlessness were rewarded. She became one of La Araña's favourite enforcers. During a raid on the aforementioned kingpin's son, Valeria saw an opportunity to further her own career. She, along with a few of her fellow soldiers, were tasked by La Araña to escort him and his son to safety. Forming an alliance with the other two soldiers, Valeria executed both of them. She created a power vacuum and what better person to fill it then her? There was only one more issue to solve. Julietta was one of the other two soldiers with Valeria and in the lonely desert, Valeria shot her in the back of the head and left her for the vultures.

She's tempted to give you the same fate as she carefully bandages her arm. Valeria's back rests against the cool, light blue ceramic of her bathtub. She washed, disinfected, stitched, and bandaged her own wound. It wasn't anything too terrible, she's had worse. Her brows are furrowed with anger as she tightens the bandage. She can't believe you did this. She went out of her way to do something nice for you, and you return the favour by stabbing her. She leans back against the tub and stares blankly at the counter across from her. Stockholm syndrome can take years to set in, and you aren't showing any progress at all. In fact, you're regressing.

Valeria rubs a tired hand across her face. She needs to be more patient. She reminds herself of this fact. The temptation to just go back downstairs and end you is strong, but she knows you're just acting out. She stands up from the tiled floor and begins collecting her medical supplies. She places them back underneath the sink and exits the bathroom. Pain rhythmically throbs down her arm, but she pays it no mind. She needs a drink. Walking into the kitchen she doesn't hesitate to snatch a bottle of vodka from the freezer. She needs something to water down the hatred currently blooming inside of her like the world's most ugly flower.

Control is one of the most important things to Valeria. She despises not having it and that's why the military didn't work out for her. Valeria is not any mere cog in a machine, she is the engineer. She would regularly commit insubordination. Doing what she thought was best even if her commanding officer didn't agree. On a mission in Europe, before she even joined the cartel, her squad had been tasked with rescuing a group of soldiers taken hostage. Valeria had been the one to find them, but the soldiers had been brainwashed. They were weak-willed and succumbed to the wiles of the enemy and turned on their team. Her orders were to subdue them and wait for backup to bring them to safety, but such weakness shouldn't have been allowed. She executed each and every one of them. She was under investigation for murder and insubordination but ultimately got away with it.

She takes a healthy swig straight from the bottle. She isn't able to control everything though. Not your attitude nor your actions. Her pink-painted nails tap along the table with her growing agitation. Dark eyes flit around the lonely kitchen. It's well stocked and maintained, she can picture herself cooking meals with you. Dancing along to music while you two make memories. If only you'd stop being so stubborn. She clenches her fist. If you want to be difficult and ungrateful then Valeria will have to act accordingly. See how aggressive you are after being isolated and weakened from hunger.

In the meantime, Valeria has important matters to attend to. Leading a successful cartel is hardly glamorous. When you come around Valeria will make sure to keep you separate from that part of her life. She takes a few more sips just for good measure before putting the half empty bottle back into the freezer.

                   *                    *                  *

She can hear you screaming. You are the loudest you've ever been. Your voice, although barely audible, manages to seep up through the floorboards. She wonders if screaming that loudly for too long can permanently damage your vocal cords. Valeria wouldn't mind if you lost the ability to speak, there's something appealing about you losing your prominent source of communication. You'd have to rely on her for a new way. For a second, she has the urge to go down there and tear out your vocal cords herself. She doesn't though, you'd never forgive her for doing that to you.

Valeria sits right outside your door silently. Listening to you sob so hard you retch. It's been five days since she's decided to impose complete isolation on you, and you aren't taking it well at all. Granted, you're also probably very hungry and thirsty. All she left you to drink was the paint water. Something thuds against the wall. Then another thing, and another. Judging by the weight of what's being thrown Valeria guesses you're chucking the tubes of acrylic at the walls.

The stab wound doesn't take that long to heal. By the second week it's already beginning to scab. She unwraps the gauze and throws it away, deciding it's no longer needed. She walks back out of the bathroom and lingers by the basement door. Everything is silent. You've been silent for three days now. Two weeks on your own should be enough time to rethink your outlook on this situation. She walks into the kitchen and prepares you something small. She can't feed you too much right away, or she could cause fatal chemical imbalances within your body. Refeeding syndrome is one awful way to go.

She makes you a sandwich, cuts it in half, and brings you a bottled water. Outside your door she hesitates. Wondering what she's going to see when she opens the door. She grabs the key from the doorframe and unlocks it, looking inside. You're lying in bed silently, back turned to the door. The blankets on top of you slowly rise and fall with your breathing. Valeria slowly approaches you and kneels beside the mattress.

"Querida." She murmurs softly. She reaches a hand out and lays in on your shoulder. "I brought you something to eat."

You don't stir, so Valeria shakes you gently.

"Look at me." She says. She grips your shoulder and rolls you onto your back. Propped up against the wall on its side is her painting of you. It's unfinished. She tried her best to capture your features, but you stabbed her before she got the chance to perfect them. She's surprised to see it in your bed. Your hollow gaze meets hers and she almost feels bad for doing this to you. Almost.

"... What did you bring?" You rasp. Your voice sounds awful, but Valeria is more focused on the fact that you're interested in what she brought.

"A sandwich, and some water." She sets the paper plate and water on the bed. You slowly sit up and look at them.

You grab the plate and bring it closer to yourself. For once you don't glare at her or ignore the food. You pick up the sandwich and swiftly devour it then grab the water and down it greedily. Some of it spills down your chin and the soaks the front of your shirt. You pull the empty bottle away from your lips and set it down. You stare at your lap with furrowed brows.

"I'm sorry." You mutter. "For stabbing you." Valeria wasn't expecting an apology but her heart leaps. She places a hand on the back of your head and gently caresses it.

"It's alright." She replies, as if your actions didn't make her contemplate killing you.

You sound sincere though. She thinks leaving you alone might've actually worked. She's still going to keep you chained down here for a little while longer, just as a precaution. You lay down. Covers pulled to your chin. Valeria takes this as her cue to leave, but when she goes to stand your hand shoots out and latches onto her wrist.

"Please don't go." You say. It was only two weeks but to someone with no windows or clock, it must've seemed like longer. Valeria lowers herself back down. Resting her back against the wall beside you while you drift off, hand still wrapped around her wrist.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Americans move &/or retire to Mexico b/c it's cheaper, and the historic 1910 Casa Limon in Merida, Yucatan, Mexico has 4bds, 7ba, and at $482,300 it's a great price for a beautiful villa. Plus, it's just 7 minutes away from the bohemian park of Santa Lucia and within walking distance to Paseo Montejo where you will find some of the best restaurants, coffee shops, museums and art galleries of the Historic Center.

It has a lovely central entrance hall.

And, look at this magnificent marble staircase.

Lovely sunny living room has doors to a terrace.

Beautiful columns separate the living room from the dining room.

Colorful Mexican tiles in the kitchen. Isn't this an unusual sink?

A built-in dish cabinet.

Love that the kitchen has everything- colorful ceramic tiles, marble, stone, and tile floor.

Original doors with a decorative glass and metal surround.

Colorful ceramic bathroom sink and a vintage medicine chest.

This bath has a stone basin sink and everything else is tile.

Look at the outdoor kitchen.

The courtyard is decorated with art pieces.

And, look at the pool.

This outer building is interesting and has potential.

Solar panels make the house energy efficient.

This patio is so beautiful, especially the gate.

Look at how pretty it is lit up at night.

https://www.point2homes.com/MX/Home-For-Sale/Yucatan/Merida/Chuminopolis/Casa-Limon-Marvelous-Historic-gem/142193048.html?

[mexican-tile-store]

Talavera sinks from Mexico are more than just functional fixtures; they are pieces of art that bring the heart and soul of Mexico into your home. With their vibrant colors, intricate patterns, and cultural significance, these sinks can transform any bathroom or kitchen into a space that tells a story. By choosing a handmade Talavera sink, you not only enhance your living space but also connect with the rich and diverse culture of Mexico. So, why settle for ordinary when you can have a piece of Mexican heritage right in your home? Explore the world of Talavera sinks and let your living space reflect the beauty and symbolism of Mexico.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Asked And Answered - Luke Newton

Word count: 1237

Summary: When questions are being asked, the only thing left to do is answer, no?

"Hi, y/n! Thank you for having us here. Do you mind if we come in and ask a few questions?"

"Oh hi! No, not at all, come on in." you smiled, closing the door and leading Joe Sabia through the hallway of your house.

"How did you get into acting? Was it something you always wanted to do?" he asked, following you into your living room.

"Well, I have always loved performing. When I was a kid, I used to put on plays for my family in our living room. But it wasn't until high school that I got into acting." 

You took your cup of coffee from your coffee table, turning off your TV.

"Tell us about your journey to becoming an actress?"

"Well, it wasn't easy. I auditioned for countless roles and faced a lot of rejection. But I never gave up and finally got my big break in an amazing Netflix show called Bridgerton." 

You smiled at the male taking a sip from your coffee, opening your blinds, and inviting in the sunlight.

"How did you land the role of y/c/n in Bridgerton?" The man questioned.

"It's quite a funny story. I was in the middle of filming for a different project when I received a call from Chris Van Dusen about an audition for a new period drama." You chuckled.

"At first, I was indecisive as I had never done a period piece before, but my agent convinced me to give it a go. So, I went for the audition, and the rest, as they say, is history." 

 "Speaking of Bridgerton, you act alongside your boyfriend, Luke Newton. Can you tell us more about that?" The interviewer followed you toward your kitchen.

"Yes, we're always together but we try our best to hold our distance on set, but we know each other so well, which made filming even more fun and natural." You answered, tearing off a piece of paper from the 

tear-off calendar.

"What was your favorite scene to film in Bridgerton?"

"That's a tough one as I genuinely enjoyed every scene. However, I think my favorite would have to be the ballroom scene where Colin and y/c/n share their first dance." You placed your cup of coffee in the sink and took a bottle of water from the fridge. 

 "Are you both supporters of each other's careers?" he asked, walking behind you towards the dining room.

"Absolutely. We both understand the demands of this industry and always support and motivate each other," you say, shoving one of the chairs under the table.

 "Can you tell us about your first date?" The male asked.

"Our first date was funny. We went to a Mexican restaurant, and I accidentally spilled my entire and very expensive margarita on his lap, but we look back on it and laugh now." You chuckled, leaning your arms on the chair.

"What is one thing that you're obsessed with at the moment?"

"Commenting on fans their fanart, they're incredibly talented." You said, opening the door towards your master bedroom. 

"If you had a podcast what would it be called?" Joe asked, stepping into the room.

"Dearest Listeners, as a wink to Lady Whistledown." You replied while adjusting the sheets on the bed. "And Nicola Coughlan."

 "what's your favorite playlist you have?"

"Romancing Mr. Newton, sorry not sorry." You laughed, leaving your master bedroom.

"what song have you had on repeat for the past few weeks?" The man asked.

"Spinning out, waiting for ya to pull me in" you softly sang, walking towards your bathroom before looking behind you. "Satellite by Harry Styles."

"what's the hardest thing you ever had to do for a role?"

"Learning how to dance a Quadrille without stepping on my dancing partner's toes." You snorted, closing the bathroom door that was still open.

"do you ever get nervous when being on set?"

"Of course, it means you care and you want to do it good." You shrugged at the man, walking to your walk-in closet.

"Who is your go-to person when you need to talk to someone?"

"Ruth Gemmell, Mother Bridgerton, really knows how to comfort you." You smiled, walking into the room that was filled with clothes and shoes.

"how many awards do you own?"

"One Academy Award for Best Actress, One Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actress, and an Oscar for Best Actress," you replied while inspecting your dresses.

"What is something that recently moved you?" Joe asked

"Last month, Luke and I had a chat with a fan in London and spoke about how essential Mental Health is, that truly touched me." You strode out of your walk-in closet and shut the door behind Joe. 

“Who is the most famous person on your phone?” 

"Meryl Streep? Taylor Swift? Both?" You slightly laughed, pushing the screen of the smart thermometer in the house.

“what's your favorite time of the day?”

"Nighttime, just silence and quality time, it's heaven." You opened the door to your home office.

“Vintage or new?” The male asked.

"Vintage," you answered as you sat down behind your desk.

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

"Acting, friends, and Luke." You leaned back in your chair, smiling at the man.

“When was the last time you were starstruck?”

"I'd say, the table read for Bridgerton, season 3." You said, getting up from the chair and getting out of the room. 

“Best gift you’ve ever received?”

"All of this, Bridgerton, everyone I got to know, the fans." You answered, adjusting a painting that hung in the hallway.

“Best advice you’d give your teenage self?” He asked`

"Dare to take the risk, no matter how scary it may seem." walking into your home theatre, you took a seat on one of the huge pillows.

“What’s your wakeup ritual?”

"Sunny weather, the smell of coffee, and a lot of food." You chuckled, running a hand through your hair.

“who’s someone you’d like to work with again on set?"

"There's no good answer to that, anyone from the Bridgerton family." you got up from the chair and walked towards the giant black screen.

“What’s your current TV obsession?”

"The Originals." You smiled, walking out of the room.

“Rate your met gala outfit 1 to 10.”

"A decent 9." You winked at the camera, coming to a halt in the hallway. "You will see."

“Do you have a favorite room in your house?” 

"I surely do! Let me show you." You walked up to the black-colored door, revealing your wine cellar.

“you have 4.2M followers on Instagram, is there something you'd like to say to them,”  Joe asked, while you were inspecting the dusty bottles of wine.

"Never think twice when you want to do something, take a leap of faith." You wiped off the dust from the bottle and placed it back.

“Have you ever googled yourself?”

"Multiple times, the first time was when Bridgerton was being released." You answered, getting closer to your garage.

“Diamonds or pearls?” Joe asked

"Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend" You winked at the camera, chuckling to yourself.

“Favorite accent to do?”

"British, everything just sounds better in British," you answered, opening your garage gate, and stepping outside in the sun.

"Then this was all we've wanted to ask you today, thank you for having us, Y/n."

"Thank you for being here today." you waved one last time at the man before closing your garage gate.